Tagged: Fans

State of the RSBS Union

Superstition is not something I find myself drawn to ordinarily; however, certain recent circumstances have led me to question even my own staunch stance in reality.  On Saturday, while witnessing Anibal Sanchez’s no-hit bid against the lowly Indians, I thought to myself, surely my obstinate and beleaguered colleague, Mr. Krause, is enjoying this little bit of history-in-the-making.

To be sure, I sent him a simple (non-superstitious text) that read: You know what’s happening right now, don’t you?

Unfortunately, as the baseball gods shook their invisible heads in shame, Mr. Krause responded with a phone call, to ask me what I was talking about, and as soon as I answered the phone, Carlos Santana drove a deep drive over Austin Jackson’s head and the drama was dead.

Good job, Mr. Krause.  Seems to be quite the formula for the Tigers this season: flashes of brilliance followed by complete disappointment.  How long will the White Sox stay ahead of the Tigers?  Until the end of the season.  That’s how I see it.

As for me and my Cardinal fanatic family, sure we’ve been victimized by the same sort of blasé play lately; but never fear… our SAVIOR will be HERE… FRIDAY.

Hate me ‘cuz it’s Monday, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

The Filibuster

What happened to the Twins?

Seth S.
Saint Paul, MN
__________________________

Ah, yes, the Minnesota Twins.  What did happen to those paragons of fundamentally sound baseball?  An analysis of such depth requires patience, dedication and an insatiable hunger for the truth, so I put the RSBS interns to the task and they have provided the following slide show:

2010

New ballpark! Yay! It’s…er… HUGE!

I CAN HAZ $184 MILLIONS!?!? IN EXCHANGE I’LL STOP HITTING HRs!

Ouch! Who turned out the lights?!?

DOH! DAMN THOSE DAMN YANKEES… AGAIN!!!

2011

Never fear! Tsuyoshi Nishioka is here!

And then… his leg is broken. Thanks for nothing, Nick Swisher! Damn you, damn Yankees!!!

And the rest of the Twins 2011 clubhouse… barely breathin’.

2012

Y U NO MOVE IN FENCES!?!? AGGH!!!

When will Justin’s ouchy-head be fixed? I need help, dammit!

Aaaaand this guy…

Nope, not even the healthy return of Morneau could make the pain of the above image go away.  In fact, 2012 sorta seems like a good time to reset everything.  Surprisingly, the Twins do have some decent offensive production (Mauer, Morneau, Willingham, Plouffe), but their pitching has been atrocious.  Like, Kent Hrbek farting in your face type of “atrocious”.  The average ERA of their six starters is over 5 and they have been blown out (lost by 5+ more runs) 23 times so far.  And the bullpen?  YIKES!  Don’t ask them to hold a lead ‘cuz it’ll be difficult!

Like old baseball men love to say, “You’re only as good as your pitching”, and, well, when your pitching resembles the bottom of a porta-potty and the rest of the team can’t stay healthy, awful is pretty much what ya get.  Don’t believe me?  Ask the perennial sCrUBS.

Hate me ‘cuz I made you look at that famous Mauer back hair guy again, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff (and interns)

Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Send us your Filibuster questions by emailing RSBSblog@gmail.com or by commenting below.

Some Happy for Yer Friday

As we enter the beginning of the most exciting time of year (baseball playoffs and football season and an election, oh my!), I think it’s important that we keep in perspective that which brings us the most joy.  Sure, hosting a Guinness keg party while dressed in my Yadier Molina jersey flanked by the Shannon twins is pretty much the happiest day of my life (that hasn’t happened yet but might), I still know that even if all that other stuff falls through, I will always have baseball.

And sometimes, within the game of baseball, we can find something much simpler that pushes the happy button.  I know a lot of folks have been wrapped up in the admirable and impressive play of Mike Trout.  People are just as infatuated with his grace and dominance as I was am infatuated with Stephen Strasburg and all things Strasmas.  It’s the little injections of youthful awesomesauce that often remind us why we love baseball so much.  It is a kid’s game after all.

But sometimes waiting for the next big thing isn’t necessary.  I have found that out this year by following Coco Crisp very closely.  My history with Crisp has been one of hilarity, peppered with some dazzle.  And while his offensive numbers may not hypnotize scouts, enough can never be said about how he plays the game.

He plays hard.  He plays to win.  He’s in on every pitch and he goes balls-to-the-wall.  In fact, I have gotten to the point where I’m watching replays of his relay throws and conducting frame-by-frame analysis on his routes to fly balls.

If I could get to Oakland, I’d rather watch Crisp long-toss than Cesepedes take BP.

Okay, so maybe I’m lyin’ a little bit in that last sentence, but one thing is for certain: Coco Crisp’s defensive play is worth focusing on and if you focus long enough, you’re probably going to see something that puts a smile on your face.  Maybe even an afro.

Happy Friday!

Jeff

Harrison v. Molina: Not Exactly What You Think

I’ve watched the play about a 100 times now — each time the pain rings out through my own body, more and more.  I’ve often heard about mothers feeling their children’s’ pain — lovers experiencing each others’ physical ailments.

This is what that must feel like.

Watching Yadier Molina get crushed is something I will never be able to fully accept.  But I’ve watched it over and over and I really do think Josh Harrison had no other choice.  Yadi did his job.  He took away the plate.  The only way Harrison had a shot was to go under, over or through Yadi.

Yadi’s a beast.  Over and under were not plausible options.  Harrison’s only choice was to barrel through.

That’s baseball.

It sucks to watch your man-crush get pummeled, but I watched Mickey Ward get destroyed once too, and he came back like the champ that he was.

Yadi will be back too.

So please, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Where Is Jaws When You Really Need Him?

It’s Shark Week.  But you knew that.  What you might not know is how dire the level of stupid is that permeates our planet.

Which makes me ask: WHERE IS JAWS WHEN YOU REALLY NEED HIM?!?!

Why not show up in the Red Sox clubhouse?  Talk about sharks in the water, my goodness.  Isn’t it funny how a couple of World Series titles make us forget just how endearing the Red Sox used to be?  Nowadays, The Nation seems more like an episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.  Incessant and annoying bickering from privileged entitled millionaires ad nauseum.  Before the season started, I was so excited Bobby Valentine was back in the manager’s seat because I knew he would bring drama to the league.  This is NOT the drama I was looking for.

Nor was I looking for the Vice President of US America to be just as stupid as I’ve always thought he might be.  Well, turns out he is.  Joe Biden’s mouth seems to be about as large as Jaws’, yes, it’s just too bad he uses his for talking instead of devouring prey.

And while I realize Jaws tends to reside in the warm coastal waters off the North Atlantic, would it be too much to ask for him to swim down, out and around on up to the San Francisco Bay?  There’s one fraudulent outfielder there who could use a good ass-chewin’.

Hate me ‘cuz I’m angry, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

The Filibuster

Usain Bolt is looking to try out with a British soccer team. What athlete that you’ve seen in the Olympics would you most like to see trying out for an American baseball team?

Ethan
Santa Clara, CA
_________________________

Olympians turned baseballers?  I like the way you think, Ethan.  And I welcome the possibilities!

I can’t help but think Michael Phelps would look good in Yankee pinstripes.  The man has 20 Olympic medals — hardware that would surely look good next to 27 World Series trophies.  And let’s face it, the dude has earned the right to be as cocky and off-putting as he is.  He might not have Derek Jeter’s golden little black book yet, but some time around the Captain and soon he too could be kissing mirrors of himself.

When it comes to actual physical strength though I might suggest Holley Mangold take up a spot in the American League as a DH.  She wouldn’t have to actually do much running or having anyrefined skills other than swinging for the fences; and accounting for her already buoyant build, I don’t think we would have to worry about any Giambian steroid scandals.

Of course, no baseball league is complete without its lovable losers.  And considering how much crying Jordyn Wieber did in the 30th Olympiad, I think she’d be a perfect fit for the Chicago Cubs.

But let’s not forget, when it comes to an Olympian I want on my baseball team, there is no one other than THE Usain Bolt.

Holy jerk chicken, that guy is a bonafide SUPERSTAR!!!

Have you EVER seen anything more exciting the last 4 years than watching that man run!?!?!  Unbelievable!  I’d want him in center field, catching everything in between the foul poles.  At the plate, I’d have him try to walk as much as possible, just to mess with the opposing pitchers’ mind before taking off to fly around the bases.  And look out if he actually hits a ball out of the infield, ‘cuz dude is gonna turn singles into doubles and doubles into inside-the-parkers!

Not only that, but Bolt is also insanely entertaining in the most endearing of ways — a happy-go-lucky clowner who can back it up with performance as opposed to the psychotic shenanigans of a WAY less talented Tony Plush.

Forget soccer, Mr. Bolt, please come wear the birds on the bat.

And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Send us your Filibuster questions by emailing RSBSblog@gmail.com or by commenting below.

Would You Do Me a Kindness? (Or, What MLB Teams Could Learn from Coldplay)

The most amazing thing happened to my sister and I on Wednesday night.  We were sitting in our waaaaaaaay up high nosebleed seats at the United Center, anxiously awaiting the start of the Coldplay concert whilst thumbing through the official Mylo Xyloto Tour program.  I was reading an interview with lead singer Chris Martin where he discussed his long held disdain for corporate sponsors taking up the prime floor seats at his shows with their stiff suits and stingy inability to have any sort of fun.

I was reading about how the band prevented that from ever happening again by sending their roadies into the rafters before the show to find their REAL fans and bringing them down, front and center.

Then a man tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Excuse me, are you a big Coldplay fan?” with a delightful English accent.  “Why don’t you come with me, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

HOLY BALLS, I thought to myself.

A few album name drops, a reciting of “Chris, Guy, Will and Johnny” and a proud display of the custom-made shirts my sister made for us that boasted our favorite Coldplay lyrics later, and this kind English gentlemen handed us two comped tickets.  TO THE FRONT FRIGGIN ROW!!!

My sister started crying with joy, I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, and before I knew it, we were standing just a few feet away from one of the most fun, visual and musically stimulating concerts I’ve ever seen.  All around us were other gracious, seemingly dreaming uberfans plucked down from the rafters.  Every single one of us sure to remember that night in full, forever and ever.

I wonder if Major League teams have ever considered doing something like this for their fans.  I am guessing no.  But wouldn’t it be nice?  Wouldn’t it be nice if our favorite big league clubs would simply do us a kindness?  I’m pretty sick of seeing stuffy suits, collagen-plugged faces and Scott Boras sitting directly behind homeplate.

A man can dream right?  Hey, sometimes, dreams come true.

Happy Friday!

Jeff